


A Stór Mo Chroí

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Clans, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Hate to Love, M/M, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: It was a gloomy, grey day in the highlands. The sun, try as it might, couldn’t manage to break through the clouds, painting land and sea alike in muted colours. Perhaps it wasn’t so desolate as all that, though it certainly seemed that way to Louis. Of course, his perception might have been coloured by his own foul mood. Everything seemed to have gone from bad to worse recently, and if his own problems weren’t enough now he had to pretend he didn’t want to throttle the chieftain of Clan Gunn, the one currently traipsing around the village and greeting clansmen as if he wasn’t just a glorified intruder. Louis narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry interact with Agnes and her young son, Harry stooping down to talk directly to the little boy. The Clan Gunn tartan, simple blocks of green and black, marked Harry as someone who clearly didn’t belong amongst them, and yet the people of Clan Sutherland always seemed delighted to see the man.Traitors.Louis is a young laird from Clan Sutherland and Harry the chieftain of Clan Gunn, and an alliance between their clans isn't enough to convince the two of them to get along.





	A Stór Mo Chroí

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuickedWeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickedWeen/gifts).



> I was delighted to be able to pinch hit for you, and I knew right away which prompt I had to choose. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to pull it off, and while it’s shorter than I hoped I think I did all right. I could not have done so without the help of Sus and Emmi, and of course my lovely beta (who has not had a chance to look at this yet so all mistakes are my own). Thanks guys. <3
> 
> This is as historically accurate as I could get, which means there’s some terminology I need to share before we go any further! 
> 
> The northern clans spoke Scottish Gaelic in the 18th century. Here are some phrases I used:
> 
>  _Fàilte_ \- Welcome  
>  _Madainn mhath_ \- Good morning  
>  _Halò_ \- Hello  
>  _Póg mo thóin_ \- Kiss my arse
> 
> Other terms:  
> Laird - a wealthy landowner, but not nobility.  
> Tacksman - a large leaseholder of land, usually related to the laird he leased from.  
> Coo - Today’s Highland cows are descended from Highland coos, a smaller black cow.  
> Plaid - the name for the blanket-like cloth that would be fashioned into a style called a Great Kilt, or a belted plaid. This was a full body garment, not merely a bottom like the kilt we know today.  
> Tartan - the pattern of the plaid. Each clan had a distinct tartan.  
> Arasaid - the style of belted plaid worn by highland women. Could be plain and striped instead of colorful tartan.  
> Croft - a fenced plot area of land, generally a farm.  
> Trews - tight-fitting footed trousers, usually tartan.  
> Collops - a meat steak.  
> Sillabub - an old English dessert made of cream, egg whites, and alcohol.  
> Jacobite - those who supported the movement to restore a Stuart king to the throne. There were Jacobite uprisings in 1715 and 1745–neither clan I focus on were Jacobites. 
> 
> Speaking of, these are real clans who actually went from rivals to allies. I have obviously taken some liberties with their membership, but the clans themselves truly exist. I apologize if portray them in any way that is unflattering or incorrect. 
> 
> (Okay, I’m done, I swear!)
> 
> The title comes from the song “A Stór Mo Chroí.”
> 
>  _A Stór Mo Chroí, when you're far away_  
>  From the house that you'll soon be leaving  
> Sure it's many a time by night and by day  
> That your heart will be sorely grieving  
> For the stranger's land may be bright and fair  
> And rich in all treasures golden  
> You'll pine, I know, for the long, long ago  
> And the heart that is never olden

**_Scotland, 1720_ **

It was a gloomy, grey day in the highlands. The sun, try as it might, couldn’t manage to break through the clouds, painting land and sea alike in muted colours. Perhaps it wasn’t so desolate as all that, though it certainly seemed that way to Louis. Of course, his perception might have been coloured by his own foul mood. Everything seemed to have gone from bad to worse recently, and if his own problems weren’t enough now he had to pretend he didn’t want to throttle the chieftain of Clan Gunn, the one currently traipsing around the village and greeting clansmen as if he wasn’t just a glorified intruder. Louis narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry interact with Agnes and her young son, Harry stooping down to talk directly to the little boy. The Clan Gunn tartan, simple blocks of green and black, marked Harry as someone who clearly didn’t belong amongst them, and yet the people of Clan Sutherland always seemed delighted to see the man.

Traitors.

With a sigh, Louis strode across the path to meet Harry, forcing a smile. It wasn’t so long ago that their clans were rivals, but now they had formed an alliance. Centuries of mistrust didn’t disappear overnight, so Harry was paying frequent visits to Clan Sutherland to mend the ties between them. Likewise, as a respected laird of the clan, Louis had to pretend to enjoy Harry’s company. It was very tiring.  
  
_“Fàilte,_ Harry,” Louis said, stopping in front of the chieftain.  
  
Harry stood up, bidding farewell to Agnes and her son before turning to Louis. _“Madainn mhath,_ Louis,” Harry replied with a grin. His greeting didn’t seem forced, unlike Louis’, though perhaps Harry was just better at masking his insincerity.  
  
“What is the purpose of your visit today?” Louis asked, crossing his arms in a way he hoped showed Harry exactly how welcome he was. “Come to steal any more of our women for Gunn men?”  
  
“My father is meeting with your chief to discuss trade,” Harry replied, his grin never fading. “And speaking of stealing your women, your sister sends her love.”  
  
Louis dropped his arms to his sides, hands clenched into fists. “Don’t talk about my sister,” Louis spat, ready to strike the chieftain if he said one more word on the subject, consequences be damned.  
  
Harry raised his hands, palms flat, in an effort to placate Louis. “My apologies. I meant no harm.” He gestured to Agnes’ yard, where the lady was now scattering feed for her chickens. “The lady here was telling me that her brother’s fence was damaged by a skittish horse. I thought I might go and assist with the repairs.”  
  
It took all of the control Louis possessed not to scoff. Harry might have been tricking Louis’ clansmen with his good deeds and charming smile, but Louis was not a fool. He knew firsthand that Harry Styles Gunn was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and soon he would be shorn and everyone else would see it too. “I’ll join you,” Louis said, delighting in the way Harry’s grin faltered, even if only for a moment. “Finlay’s property is on my land, so it only seems right that I should check in on my tenant.”  
  
Harry seemed as if he wanted to protest, but instead bowed his head. “What a kind laird you are,” he said. “Only if you’re certain. I wouldn’t want you to get too dirty.” He let his eyes drift down Louis’ belted plaid, more intricate than the Clan Gunn tartan with squares of blue and green separated by lines of red and white. It was a lovely sett, far better than Harry’s drab green, and Louis was quite proud to wear it.  
  
“Dirt is far easier to wash out than blood,” Louis replied cheerfully, striding off toward Finlay’s property without a backward glance. He smiled to himself as he heard Harry scrambling to catch up to him after having been caught off guard.

They walked the short distance in silence, close enough that the edges of their plaid brushed together with each stride. Louis would take a wider step, trying to put some distance between them, but Harry’s legs were longer and had no issue closing the gap. It was infuriating, which was surely why Harry did it, but Louis refused to let his agitation to show and give the bastard the satisfaction.

Finlay was outside his home, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he stacked up stones that had fallen from his fence. _“Halò,_ Finlay!” Louis called as they approached, causing the man to turn around.

 _“Halò!”_ Finlay called out, waving in greeting. “I was not expecting a visit from the Much Honoured Louis!”

Louis laughed, clapping Finlay on the back once he was close enough. “No need for such politeness with me, Finlay.” He gestured at Harry. “This one, however, is the Much Honoured Harry Styles Gunn. He’s come to help with your fence,” Louis said.

“I would most appreciate that,” Finlay said, his ruddy face suddenly serious. “I wish I could have caught the man who let his horse barrel through my fence, but he was off before I could get a look at him. He’s lucky my sheep didn’t wander too far!”

“Probably someone passing through from Clan Murray,” Louis scoffed. “We’ll be sure to keep an eye out for him on his way back through!”

“What can we do to help?” Harry asked, taking off his jacket to reveal the waistcoat underneath. He slung his jacket over a section of fence still intact, pushing his sleeves back to reveal muscular forearms.

Finlay grinned, gesturing at the pile of stones. “If you two want to start stacking, I’ll find replacements for the rocks that broke.”

“We’ll have it fixed for you in no time,” Harry promised, already sorting through the rock pile for one to fill in the gap in the fence. Satisfied, Finlay turned and set off toward the seaside cliffs in search of more rocks.

“I can’t believe anybody buys your act,” Louis grumbled, shedding his own jacket to help Harry with the fence. “You only help people when there’s something in it for you.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Harry replied, grunting as he lifted a particularly large stone from the pile. He hefted it onto the fence, the muscles in his arms flexing from the strain. Louis forced himself to look away.

“You’re trying to make our clan like you so that you’ll have our support,” Louis said. “By the time you become Chief, you’ll have a powerful ally. You aren’t here building fences out of the goodness of your own heart, or surely you’d be helping your own clansmen.”

Harry frowned, taking a moment to mop his brow with the back of his forearm. “And what makes you think I don’t help my own clansmen?” Harry retorted. “Your chief isn’t out here helping Finlay. You wouldn’t be either if you weren’t keeping an eye on me.”

“I’m not—”

“You are, Louis. We both know it.” Harry nodded down at the next rock in the pile, too big for either of them to lift by himself. “Now are you going to help me with this, or are you going to make me wait for Finlay to return?”

They worked together in reluctant silence, each only speaking to the other when a rock was too heavy for one man to lift. By the time Finlay returned, a few stones carried in a pouch fashioned out of a fold in his plaid, the fence was nearly finished. It didn’t take the tree of them long at all to add in the last few rocks. Finlay tried to invite his laird and the visiting chief inside, offer them some porridge as a thank you, but Harry declined for whatever reason and Louis declined because he didn’t want to share a meal with Harry.

“Thank you both again!” Finlay called after them, already moving his sheep from inside his house back out to the yard.

“That was rewarding, wasn’t it?” Harry asked, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder. “Helping someone just because you can.” He walked with a spring to his step that made him look like a newborn calf.

Louis, possessing some dignity, had donned his jacket and was doing up the buttons as they walked. “My reward will be you returning to your own lands,” Louis replied coldly. “Surely your father is finished with his negotiations by now?”

Harry’s smile faltered, an readable expression crossing his face. He took a few long strides forward so that Louis was behind him. “Surely,” he replied curtly. “I’ll go meet up with him so we can be on our way.” His tone was flat, annoyed perhaps, but Louis couldn’t be bothered enough to care.

“Not a moment too soon,” Louis replied cheerfully. “May you forget the path to my clan before your next visit.”

“I’ll tell your sister you send your love!” Harry called back, quickening his pace so that Louis was left glaring after him.

Louis stalked back to his home, blood boiling. Harry knew exactly what to say to rile him up, and Louis was not the kind of man who could just ignore it. Not where his sister was concerned at the very least.

Charlotte was a few years younger than Louis, well liked in the clan and full of life. She was beautiful and headstrong and independent, and Louis would have given her the world had she asked for it.

Instead, she asked for his permission to wed a man from Clan Gunn, and Louis wanted to say no with all of his heart. But she was in love, and Louis knew her well enough to know that she would do what she wanted with or without his permission. With their parents gone he was responsible for her happiness, and if marrying Thomas of Clan Gunn would make her happy then he wasn’t going to stand in her way.

It didn’t mean he had to like it, however.

Of course, Harry used Charlotte’s move to his clan to salt Louis’ wounds whenever possible. It was what had annoyed Louis about the chieftain from their first meeting, how innocently he brought Louis’ sister up in conversation, making it seem as if he spoke to her daily when in reality Harry probably knew Charlotte in name only.

Now, though, Louis had plenty of other reasons to dislike Harry. His arrogance, his ever-present smirk, his pretense of kindness for his own selfish gain. Louis could only be thankful that such a man would never be _his_ chief; it was bad enough having him as an ally.

Even thinking about him annoyed Louis. He found himself wishing he had dropped one of Finlay’s rocks on Harry’s foot. Or his head—Louis wasn’t choosy. Hopefully Harry would get this charade of selflessness out of his system soon and stop making such frequent visits to Clan Sutherland lands, and Louis could stop wasting time thinking about him.

 

*

 

Unfortunately, that was too much to hope for, and the following week Harry returned. Louis didn’t bother going to greet him this time, choosing instead to go about his business. He thought perhaps he’d go see about having a new plaid made before the weather changed, or visit his cousin Niall to see how he was getting on with a new baby in the house. Honestly, shoveling dung sounded like more fun than spending time with Harry, so Louis felt as if he had a wealth of better options.

Niall served as Louis’ tacksman, and it was his job to ensure that Louis received payment from each of the tenants living on his land. Louis had always thought of Niall as more like a brother, and the two had been very close their entire lives. Now Niall had a newborn son, and visiting his favourite little family seemed like the perfect way to avoid Harry for an afternoon.

A weary looking Aileen greeted Louis at the door, wisps of red hair escaping the striped arisaid draped over her head like a shawl. “Louis, what a pleasant surprise,” Aileen said warmly, kissing Louis’ cheek. “Come in, Camdan just woke up from a nap.”

Sure enough, Niall was sat in a chair next to the fire, Camdan bundled up in his arms. The baby was crying, his fat cheeks red as he wailed, and Niall was desperately trying to soothe his son.

“I see you’ve gotten better at this since the last time I saw you,” Louis mused, joining Niall at the fire. Something rich was cooking in the pot suspended over it, and Louis’ mouth watered at the smell.

Niall glared at Louis. “I hope you father children someday so that I can give you grief about it,” Niall muttered. He lifted Camdan up to Aileen, and once in her arms the infant quieted down. “She’s put some kind of spell on him, I swear,” Niall said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He’s a good boy for his mother,” Aileen cooed. She bent down to kiss her husband on the cheek. “How have you been, Louis? How’s your sister?”

“She’s well,” Louis replied. “I imagine she and Thomas will have one of these before too long, if she has anything to do with it. She’s always wanted children.”

It was nice to catch up, to hear about how quickly Camdan was growing and share what he knew of Charlotte’s life with her new clan, but it wasn’t long until they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Niall stood to answer it, his body blocking the door frame as he greeted whoever had come to call, and when he stepped aside Louis could barely keep from groaning out loud.

“Hello,” Harry said cheerfully, smiling with his cheeks bitten red by the wind and green eyes bright in the sunlight. “Sorry to interrupt, but I was looking for Louis before I left for home.”

“Chieftain Harry! You’re no trouble at all. Come in, have a seat,” Niall offered, gesturing to the short-legged chairs gathered around the fire. “Louis was just telling us about his sister’s move to your clan.” He offered Harry the tallest chair, usually reserved for a guest of honour, and Louis didn’t bother to hide his disdain.

Harry greeted Aileen and Camdan before taking the seat, setting the basket he was carrying on his lap. “Charlotte is why I’m here, actually,” Harry confessed, indicating the basket. “When she heard I was visiting today, she insisted I bring something along for her big brother.” He passed the basket over.

Louis took it, pulling back the linen to glance underneath. Inside were barley cakes and loaves of oat bread, no doubt made by Charlotte herself. She had a knack for helping in the kitchen even when she was a young girl, and Louis had no doubt that Thomas was better fed than he had been his entire life.

Niall leaned over to peer inside the basket, humming appreciatively. “Charlotte always was handy in the kitchen,” he commented. He turned his crooked smile on Harry. “If you’ve never tasted her bread with some fresh butter, you should beg Louis here for a bit.”

“I don’t think Louis would spare me a single oat, let alone his dear sister’s bread,” Harry replied jovially, smiling at Niall like he was only joking. “However I have had the pleasure myself. Charlotte has already made quite a name for herself with her cooking amongst our clansmen.”

 _Our clansmen._ It was as if Harry was rubbing dirt into Louis’ wounds, emphasising that Charlotte no longer belonged to Clan Sutherland. Louis had had quite enough; he briskly stood, clutching the basket close to his chest. “Yes, well, I think I will go and write to her now and express my gratitude,” Harry said, clapping Niall on the back and stepping around the fire to kiss Aileen goodbye. Harry stood up, some sort of half hearted attempt at politeness perhaps, but Louis walked straight past him to the door.

“If you finish that letter soon I’d be glad to deliver it for you,” Harry called out to him.

 _“Póg mo thóin,”_ Louis muttered under his breath, but he hoped Harry heard him anyway.

 

*

 

With visits from Harry being frequent and unannounced, Louis began to dread leaving his house. He never knew when the sight of a too large smile or an ugly green plaid would ruin a beautiful day.

Like today, evidently.

The sky was seemed to press in on the village, clouds heavy and dark with the promise of rain. Harry was striding down the road past Louis’ land with a purpose, paying no mind to the wind whipping at his plaid and blowing his long brown hair this way and that.

“Where do you think you’re off to?” Louis called over the wind. He had been on his way home after an afternoon spent discussing land boundaries with two of his tenants. Luckily both men were pleased by the time Louis left them, but he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to return home for a hot meal. Instead, his curiosity insisted he had to see where Harry was headed in such a hurry.

Harry turned his head toward Louis voice, stopping only for a moment. “Logan is missing one of his coos,” Harry called back. “He’s looking to the south, and I offered to look up this way.” He took off again, following the sloping path away from the village.

“It’s about to storm!” Louis shouted after him. When Harry paid him no mind, Louis unpinned his plaid from his shoulder and used it to cover both arms as protection from the wind before taking off after Harry. He wasn’t going to let the damn fool get lost or killed looking for a coo, at least not without being there to witness Harry’s stupidity firsthand.

“You’re a pain in the arse, did you know that?” Louis said sourly once he had caught up with the chieftain.

Harry narrowed his eyes, turning his head to study Louis. “You don’t have to help. No one asked you to, and I know you don’t care about helping me.”

“Can’t find the coo if you get lost in the storm, can you?” Louis shot back. “Besides, this is my clan. I should be the one they turn to for help, not you.”

Harry frowned but didn’t reply, instead quickening his pace as they made their way further from the village. Beyond the crofts the farmland gave way to a glen, shallow at one end and steeper at the other, with a narrow stream coursing through it. It wasn’t out of the question that a lost coo would be drawn to the water, or perhaps had fallen down the rocky incline and was lying dead in the valley.

“You check the burn, I’ll keep to the edge,” Louis ordered. Harry looked as if he was going to argue, mouth set and eyes as stormy as the sky, but instead he turned and carefully made his way down into the valley to follow the stream. Louis matched his pace from the higher ground, occasionally stopping to peer over the edge in search of an injured coo, but nothing moved in the glen aside from the rushing water and grass bending in the wind.

“I don’t see anything!” Louis called down to Harry.

“Neither do I!” Harry called back, tilting his face up toward Louis.

Which is exactly when the sky opened above them, a torrent of rain pouring out.

Both men swore loudly and turned around, each making his way back to the path. Louis had to be careful not to slip on the wet grass lest he fall into the valley below. The burn was no doubt already swelling, and something in him hoped that Harry was taking care not to lose his footing in case the current was strong enough to sweep him away.

Luckily they both made it back to where they parted ways, soaked and panting but in one piece. “We need to get inside,” Louis said once they reunited. “My house isn’t far from here.”

“I can go back into the village,” Harry insisted. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“And I don’t want you to catch your death!” Louis replied, the sentiment seeming to surprise Harry as much as it did him. “Come on, you can wait out the storm and then be on your way.”

They hurried to Louis’ house, plaids thrown over their heads in a futile attempt from getting wetter than they were. The rain was cold this time of year, the wind making it colder still, and their trews were splashed with mud from each step they took. Louis led Harry inside, immediately stripping off his shoes and trews before going any further into the house. Harry followed suit, handing his stockings off to the housekeeper waiting to collect them.

“Could you bring the good chieftain a change of clothes?” Louis asked the woman, who hurried off to complete her task. Louis turned to Harry, looking every bit like a wet dog, his hair dripping onto the floor. “Come on, let’s get you to a fire until Ilisa can find you something to wear.”

They sat in front of the fire until Ilisa brought them each a change of clothes. Louis traded his sopping plaid for a dry one, and instructed Harry to do the same. Once Ilisa had taken away their wet outerwear, Louis went out to strip out of his waistcoat and shirt, putting on a dry shirt before wrapping up in the fresh plaid. Harry sheepishly copied him, turning his back as he changed out of his wet clothing. It allowed Louis a moment to appreciate the muscles in Harry’s back, the broadness of his shoulders that tapered down to his hips. Louis was not unaware of his appreciation of the male form, but it was a bit startling to find Harry the object of his gaze. As Harry donned the borrowed shirt and plaid, Louis looked away before he could get caught at staring.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, once they were both dressed and drying. It was strange to see him in Clan Sutherland tartan, but Louis couldn’t say it was a welcome sight. Then again, that was probably more his loyalty to his Clan’s tartan than Harry’s appearance.

“Wasn’t going to let you fall ill,” Louis muttered in return. He took a sip from the ale Ilisa had brought each of them when she returned for the rest of their clothes. “I don’t hate you that much.”

Harry turned his cup in his hands, eyebrows knit together. “Why do you hate me at all?” Harry asked, sounding much younger and more vulnerable than Louis had ever heard him. “What have I done to make you dislike me so strongly?”

Shit. Louis didn’t have a good answer for that. A week ago, two, he could have listed a thousand reasons why he hated Harry, but the thought of saying them out loud to Harry himself made each one seem ridiculous. His cheeks flushed with shame. “I’d like you a lot more if you’d stop mentioning my sister,” he grumbled, deciding on a half-truth.

Harry’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it upset you so much. Charlotte talks about you all the time, about how wonderful you are and how you had to take on a lot of responsibility when your father died, and I wanted to meet the man she thought so highly of. She asks me to send her regards each time I come here, and is always waiting to hear how you’re faring.”

Despite the warmth of the fire, Louis found himself feeling cold once more. “She– she talks about me to you?” When Harry nodded, Louis felt guilt rise in his throat, refusing to be swallowed down. He had always assumed that Harry was having a laugh at his expense, that he lied about speaking to Charlotte so often just to get a rise out of Harry. As it turned out, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, meeting Harry’s eyes, admiring the way the light of the fire made them seem to glow from within. “I thought you were trying to upset me by reminding me that she isn’t here any longer, and that you get to see her more often than I do.”

Harry looked shocked at that. “Why would I do something like that? If my sister were to leave for another clan, I couldn’t imagine someone doing something so cruel. I certainly wouldn’t.” His shoulders slumped. “Did you really think so little of me?”

“I did,” Louis admitted, hating the way Harry flinched at the admission. “But I’m starting to realise I might have been mistaken.” He smiled, raising his glass in a peace offering. “I might have been mistaken about a lot of things.”

Hesitantly Harry raised his own cup, touching it against Louis’ before bringing it to his lips. “To learning from our mistakes,” he murmured, tilting the glass back. He wiped a stray drop from his lips, leaving behind a timid smile, and it was as if the air in the room changed. Louis felt like he could see the cracks spreading in the wall between them, and even though they passed the rest of the storm sitting in front of the fire in silence, it was by no means unpleasant.

 

*

 

A week went by and there was no sign of Harry. For the first time Louis found himself disappointed that the chieftain hadn’t yet returned. It would be Louis’ luck that once they came to an understanding, once he no longer dreaded the sight of Harry amongst his clansmen, that Harry wouldn’t visit as often.

A knock at the door surprised him, as he didn’t get many visitors aside from Niall unless there was a dispute between his tenants (which were, thankfully, few and far between). Perhaps it was Niall, coming to enlist Louis’ help in some new project. He could hear Ilisa greeting whoever was at the door, and peered down the stairs to take a look.

Harry was being let inside, Louis’ spare plaid and shirt dried and neatly folded in his arms. He wore his standard tartan today, as well as a cap with two eagle feathers jauntily attached—the mark of a chieftain. When Harry took over for his father as the chief of Clan Gunn, he would be entitled to wear three feathers.

“It’s about time you brought those back,” Louis called down, feigning annoyance. “I thought perhaps you’d sworn allegiance to our clan and decided to keep them.”

Harry grinned up at him. “Not for all the ale in Scotland,” Harry called back. He allowed Ilisa to take the clothing, watching Louis descend the stairs to greet him properly.

“What brings you today, then?” Louis asked. “More coos to rescue? Perhaps a goat this time.”

Harry laughed, throwing back his head as he did and exposing the long line of his throat. Louis made himself look away.

“Just returning what I borrowed, actually,” Harry admitted. “I did visit with Logan, but his coo was found after the storm so all is well.”

Louis smiled. He already knew that, of course, having asked after Logan himself once the storm was over, but Harry didn’t need to know that. “I’m sure he appreciated your help. If you have no other commitments, you’re welcome to join me for dinner.”

“I’d like that,” Harry replied with a wide smile.

Dinner was a broiled leg of mutton with turnips and carrots, with beer to drink. Harry complimented every dish, and Louis couldn’t help but notice the peculiar manner in which his guest ate: tongue first, as if he couldn’t wait for each bite to reach his mouth to taste it.

After they were full and each had a cup of tea in hand, Louis led Harry upstairs to a sitting room. It didn’t see much use, as he didn’t have many opportunities to entertain, but thanks to Isla it was never left dusty.

“You’re a lot more pleasant now that you’ve decided I’m not your enemy,” Harry remarked, walking the perimeter of the room to admire the paintings.

“You’re a lot more pleasant when you aren’t wearing that hideous tartan,” Louis countered. “I would offer to lend you one of mine while you’re here, but I wouldn’t get it back for another week.”

Harry laughed, mirth in his eyes as he glanced away from the paintings to smile at Louis. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothing again, Louis? I’m beginning to think you ask all of your visitors to disrobe.” He turned to the painting above the fireplace, the newest addition and less faded than the rest. “Was this your father?”

Louis willed the blood away from his flushing cheeks, stepping closer to Harry. “Yes. He was a laird before me, and when he died I was given control of land and tenants. Not to mention trying to raise a sister several years younger than myself.”

“You look like him,” Harry mused, turning back to Louis. “And I think you did a brilliant job with Charlotte, if that can be credited to you.”

Louis waved off the compliment. “She was always a good girl. I can’t take too much credit for that.”

“Perhaps you need to start giving yourself more credit,” Harry murmured.

“Who are you and what have you done with the Harry I loved to hate?” Louis laughed, finishing his tea and setting the empty cup aside. “Now you’re nothing but kind words and pleasantries.”

“I was always kind,” Harry argued. “It took you pulling your head out of your arse to see it.”

“It was probably your ugly Gunn tartan,” Louis insisted, tugging at one of the pleats in Harry’s plaid. “Hard to see anything besides this ugly thing. You put on my plaid and didn’t look like such a dickhead anymore.”

Harry looked down at his green and black plaid, belted at the waist and topped with a shirt and waistcoat. “I don’t know, I always thought the green brought out my eyes,” Harry replied, batting his eyelashes. “Though from the way you were looking at me the other night, you weren’t so changed by my putting on your plaid as you were me taking off mine.”

Louis flushed red with shame at being caught staring, especially at another man. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Harry insisted softly. “I had no idea that you shared my interests, if you understand what I mean.” He was blushing now too, staring hard down into his cup of tea as if it might give him some clue what to say next.

Louis’ heart was pounding. Surely Harry couldn’t be implying what Louis thought he was. If so, the interests in question were something Louis had kept quietly buried for years, knowing that the punishment for such would be imprisonment or death. “Shared interests, you say?” he rasped, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He wished he had more tea.

Harry set his own cup aside, taking a step closer. “I’m not wrong, am I?” he asked, eyes searching Louis’ face, landing on his lips for a fraction too long before sweeping over the rest of Louis’ features.

“No,” Louis managed to whisper, suddenly feeling quite nervous, as if Harry had somehow managed to strip away his hardened exterior and reveal him for what he was underneath: a frightened boy who still wished he could ask his father what he should do.

Harry took another step closer, and another, until Louis could clearly see the desire painted amongst the green of his irises. “Then kiss me,” Harry requested, and it would have taken a stronger man that Louis not to comply.

It was a timid meeting of their mouths at first, a gentle brush of lips and exchange of relieved breaths, but soon it grew into something more desperate—hands slipping under fabric, tongues slipping into mouths, the distance between their bodies disappearing until none could be found. “Louis,” Harry gasped, breaking the kiss with a moan. “Please tell me that this is all right. That you wanted this as badly as I did.”

Louis felt dazed, surprised that he had been kissing Harry, confused that it had stopped. “It’s all right,” he repeated, reaching to pull Harry back in. “Please, don’t stop.” He reclaimed Harry’s mouth, lifting one hand to tangle in Harry’s long hair and the other to hold Harry’s body tightly against his. Even despite the layers of clothing between them, Louis could feel that Harry was just as riled up as he was, and Louis lined up their bodies that each might seek his relief as they pressed together. It wasn’t a drawn out affair, Louis’ body succumbing to the stimulation, to the cleverness of Harry’s mouth and the deftness of his fingers, and he had to muffle a shout in Harry’s shoulder to avoid from alerting Ilisa. Harry held Louis up with one strong arm, sneaking the other inside his plaid and bringing himself to completion as well. Louis couldn’t tear his eyes away from Harry’s enraptured expression, eyes tightly closed and head thrown back in pleasure as he reached climax.

They stood holding each other, panting, and Louis could just imagine how they would look if anyone were to peek into the room. They were both sweaty and disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks red, and it wouldn’t be hard to guess what had put them in such a state. Louis took a step away, offering Harry a smile before trying to fix his rumpled clothes.

“Made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?” Harry asked shyly, rearranging the pleats of his plaid.

“If you were looking to borrow my clothes again, you could have just asked,” Louis teased, glancing up at Harry. He was quite the picture, flushed and messy, and Louis wanted nothing more than to kiss him again.

Harry laughed. “I think I will keep my own this time, if that’s all right. It might not be the best idea for your housekeeper to have to wash such a mess from my clothing. She might get the wrong idea,” he said soberly, and the seriousness of what they’d done came crashing over Louis. Of course he was right—they had to be careful, lest they find themselves at the mercy of the High Court.

“Earlier, you said– you said you wanted that,” Louis said, recalling Harry’s words. “How long?”

“Since I met you,” Harry admitted, ducking his head nervously. “Before that, really. I think I was half gone for you just hearing the way Charlotte described you. Once I saw you, there was no turning back.”

It pained Louis that there was so much wasted time between them, time Louis had spent hating Harry thanks to a misunderstanding when they could have been kissing instead. “It took me a bit longer to reach the same conclusion, I’m afraid,” Louis told him.

“I’m just grateful that you did,” Harry assured him, pulling him back into his arms and giving him a short, sweet kiss. “Though I fear now that I know what kissing you is like, I will find it hard to think of anything else.”

“I can assure you I will no longer dread your visits,” Louis laughed, tucking his head into the crook of Harry’s neck. “Especially not if you’ll have a cup of tea with me before you leave.”

“I think I will always make sure to stop in for a cup of tea,” Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to Louis’ head. They risked holding each other for a bit longer, soaking up the warmth from each other’s body, before Harry reluctantly kissed Louis farewell and took his leave. Louis watched him go, mounting his horse and riding off to the Clan Gunn lands to the south, already dreaming of the next time their lips would meet again.

 

*

 

True to his word, each time Harry paid a visit to Clan Sutherland after that he made certain to stop by Louis’ home for a ‘cup of tea.’ It never amounted to much more than kissing and touching, but it was enough for the two men. It had to be, at least for the time being, for dragging Harry into his bedroom was certain to arouse suspicion from Louis’ staff. He hoped he would be able to trust them, but with his life on the line he didn’t dare find out.

A few weeks later, it was his turn to pay a visit to Clan Gunn. Winter was fast approaching, and Louis wanted to see Charlotte before the weather made it too difficult to travel. Of course, he wanted to see Harry as well, but his sister was the primary reason for his visit.

The village he arrived in didn’t look so different from his own, though Castle Gunn was smaller than the one belonging to the chief of Clan Sutherland. It was beautiful, though, towering over the village and crofts below. Louis stared at it for a long time before asking a farmer where Thomas and Charlotte’s house was.

They had a plot of land on the eastern edge of the village, close to the sea. Louis knew Thomas fished as his trade, and sure enough as he approached their home he could smell the scent of fish cooking over the fire. Louis knocked on the door, and before he could react he had an armful of his younger sister.

“It took you long enough to visit!” she accused, pulling him into the house and over to the fire. Sure enough there were fish roasting on a stick, getting crispy from the heat of the flames. Charlotte guided him to a chair and thrust a cup of tea in his hand, and as he often did nowadays he found himself thinking of Harry.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner,” Louis apologised. “I’ve missed you terribly. You look happy.” It was the truth; Charlotte looked positively radiant, and she beamed at him in response.

“I am happy,” she told him. “Thomas is wonderful to me. Everyone here is so kind.” She studied him for a moment, lips pursed. “You look happy too. It’s good to see you smiling.”

Louis widened his grin. “I suppose we’re both doing well then,” he said. He could see that she wanted to press for details, to find out what had changed since she’d left the clan, but luckily for him they were interrupted by Thomas arriving home.

Thomas greeted Louis warmly, and they sat down to a dinner of roasted herring and pease pudding. The fish was cooked perfectly, and Thomas was more than happy to tell Louis his fishing stories. In turn Louis told them about searching for a lost coo and getting caught in a storm, making both of them laugh as he described a sopping wet Harry having to borrow one of his plaids.

“If that had been you, you would have rode home naked rather than be caught dead in another clan’s tartan,” Charlotte giggled.

“I’m half surprised Harry didn’t!” Louis laughed. “I thought for certain he would refuse and run out in his shirt and trews!” The image made his cheeks hurt he was smiling so hard.

“We’ll have to invite Harry to dine with us next time you visit,” Thomas said. “I’m certain he has some colourful stories of you as well.”

Louis chuckled. “I’ll return in the spring, if you’d like, and you can hear for yourself.”

Charlotte and Thomas shared a look at that. “We’ll have someone else joining us come spring as well,” Charlotte said, still smiling at Thomas as she smoothed a hand over her stomach.

Louis leapt to his feet, immediately gathering his sister into a hug. “Oh, what wonderful news!” Louis cried, kissing both her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to tell you in person, didn’t I?” Charlotte shot back, wiping happy tears from her eyes. “I didn’t think it would be months until you came to see your only sister.”

“I would have come sooner had I known!” Louis argued. He kissed her again. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you,” he added, turning to Thomas.

They visited a while longer, and soon it was time for Louis to say his goodbyes. He wanted to ride back before nightfall, and he still had one more stop to make before he left. Charlotte walked him outside, her arm looped through his, and pulled him in for one last hug and kiss before he went.

“I’m so proud of you,” he told her, stroking her cheek. “You’ve grown into a wonderful woman, and I know you’ll make a great mother as well.”

“I had someone wonderful to look up to,” Charlotte demurred. “Honestly, Lou, it’s so good to see you happy. I haven’t seen you smile like that since before Father died.”

“It’s nice to be happy,” Louis replied. “You take care of yourself, and write to me the second that little one comes. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. She waved to him as he mounted his horse and rode off. Instead of heading back home, though, he turned toward the castle to the northeast of the village. He hadn’t told Harry he was coming, and for all he knew Harry was off visiting some other clan (perhaps even Louis’), but he couldn’t bear the thought of being so close and not trying to see him.

As it turned out, Harry was home after all. Louis gave his name and was welcomed into the castle to wait while servants fetched the chieftain and others saw to his horse. It was quite lovely, the castle, larger than Louis’ home, with large windows that allowed plenty of light to pour inside. Louis was examining a tapestry on the wall when a voice behind him caught him off guard.

“What do you think?”

Louis spun around to find Harry, leaning casually against the wall. He was smiling as he watched Louis, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Louis returned the smile. “You have a beautiful home,” he praised, closing the distance between them to embrace his lover. “I’m glad I was finally able to see it.” He frowned as he pulled away. “I’m afraid I can’t stay too long, though. I don’t want to ride home in the dark, and we’re not long until sunset.”

“Then stay,” Harry suggested, surreptitiously stroking Louis’ arm with two fingers. “I’ll have a room prepared for you, and you can set out in the morning.”

Louis shook his head. “I couldn’t impose like that,” he insisted, but Harry was having none of it.

“Nonsense,” Harry said. “You know you could never be an imposition. Let me offer you supper to repay the kindness you’ve shown me, and you can leave first thing tomorrow if you desire.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Louis said, and the way Harry’s face lit up was proof that he didn’t mind at all.

Supper was a lavish affair, with several kinds of fish and fowl, beef collops, with sillabub for dessert that was finer than any Louis had ever tasted. The Chief was a kind man, Louis had met him on a few occasions, and was happy to discuss the growing bond between their clans, as well as the embarrassment of the Jacobites and their likely fate. Harry smiled between them warmly, all the while sneaking his hand under Louis’ plaid beneath the table. Louis discretely kicked him, offering the Chief a polite grin as he talked clan politics.

After supper, Louis was shown to a gust room just as fine as his own room back home. He was left alone to undress and ready himself for bed, but no sooner had he blown at the candles and crawled under the covers did the door slowly creak open as Harry let himself inside. Louis sat up in surprise, watching Harry creep quietly into the room and shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” Louis whispered.

“I thought I might join you, if you’ll have me,” Harry whispered back, now stood next to the bed dressed in nothing more than a long shirt. “It isn’t a luxury we’ve ever been afforded, and I thought you might want to make use of the opportunity.”

The idea of having Harry in bed with him was heady, but even more so was the thought of falling asleep in his arms, sharing warmth and trading kisses until neither could keep his eyes open. “Of course,” Louis said, and moved over to invite Harry into his bed.

For as much as Louis enjoyed every hasty grope, every fumbling touch and stolen kiss, none of them compared to being able to take his time with Harry. They kissed long and slow, bodies close together without layers of wool in between, and once they shed their shirts they were able to lie skin to skin for the very first time. Louis could feel the effect he was having on Harry, could feel Harry growing thicker and harder as Louis kissed down his neck and across the strong planes of his chest. He could feel his body responding in kind, desperate for friction, for release. For Harry.

“Let me touch you,” Harry requested, and Louis readily agreed. He was started at first by Harry’s hand sliding past his erection, tentatively dipping to stroke at the opening hidden beneath. Harry held Louis’ gaze the entire time, watching for the slightest hint of discomfort, but Louis had none to show. If he was at all unsure, the feeling vanished when Harry gently pressed his finger inside. It was like nothing Louis had ever felt before, and he could do little more but cling to Harry with wide eyes, trying his best to stay quiet at the risk of drawing attention.

“Feel good?” Harry whispered, gently moving his finger inside of Louis.

“Yes,” Louis agreed, pushing down against Harry’s finger. “I had no idea,” he nearly sobbed. It was strange and wonderful at the same time, the feeling of Harry inside his body, and he found himself wondering if all the people who found buggery so appalling would feel the same if they gave it a try themselves.

Harry captured Louis’ mouth in his before withdrawing his finger. He leaned over the bed and reached for his shirt, drawing a small bottle out of the fabric. “Oil,” he whispered. “It eases the way.”

“You’ve done this before, have you?” Louis asked, watching intently as Harry drizzled some oil over his fingers.

“Only to myself,” Harry replied with a devilish grin, and then he was pressing back into Louis with two fingers held together. The stretch was uncomfortable until his body conceded, pain giving way to relief as the tight muscles relaxed around the intrusion. Harry stroked inside of him like he was touching the finest silks and furs in the world, exploring and appreciative, and when he moved his fingers just so Louis thought he could see straight through the roof to the stars above. By three fingers, he was nearly sobbing against Harry’s shoulder, so incredibly overwhelmed at how good he could be made to feel.

That feeling, wonderful as it seemed, was still nothing compared to when Harry slicked up his erection and, with a nervous breath, slowly pressed inside Louis. If his fingers had been good, their proper union was exquisite, and Louis could never imagine something so wonderful being considered evil.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked, his body trembling above Louis’ as he kept himself from pushing in any farther until Louis was ready.

“Only in the best way,” Louis insisted, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and pulling him deeper inside. They both groaned quietly at the feeling, and as soon as Louis’ body adjusted Harry was pulling out to thrust back in once more. Neither of them had the restraint to make it last, and nothing could have prepared Louis for how it would feel to finally lie with Harry properly. It made everything they had done before pale in comparison, and he already knew he would be looking for every opportunity to fall back into bed together.

Harry’s thrusts quickly grew erratic, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against Louis’ as his hips began to stutter forward. Louis felt the first pulse of come inside him and quickly shot up to claim Harry’s mouth, swallowing down the moan he knew would follow. Harry kissed back passionately as he worked a hand between their bodies to take hold of Louis, stroking him hard and fast as he continued to ride out his own orgasm. Harry was everywhere, above him and around him, kissing and touching, and so much stimulation had Louis whimpering as he joined Harry over the blissful edge.

Harry collapsed on top of him, panting, hands and body sticky with oil and come, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead he pressed kissed to every bit of Louis’ face he could reach. “Are you all right, love?” Harry asked shakily, wrapping his arms tightly around Louis’ quivering body.

“I’ve never felt so good in my entire life,” Louis promised. “I never want to stop feeling this way.”

Harry chuckled, rolling them to their sides and gently slipping out of Louis. “We must find more occasions for you to borrow a room, then,” Harry replied, mouthing along Louis’ collarbones. His voice already sounded thick with the promise of sleep, and Louis held him tightly until Harry’s kisses were replaced by gentle snored. Happy and sated, his heart nearly bursting with joy, Louis allowed sleep to carry him off as well.

 

*

 

Louis half expected Harry to be gone before the sun rose, needing to sneak back to his own room to avoid being discovered in Louis’ bed. He was still there, though, propped up on one elbow and watching Louis sleep with drowsy green eyes. He smiled when he noticed Louis was awake. _“Madainn mhath,”_ he whispered, as if trying to preserve the stillness of the morning.

 _“Madainn mhath,”_ Louis replied with a smile. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“I should be,” Harry confessed, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I couldn’t bear to leave you, though.”

“How am I meant to leave you if you can’t even get out of my bed?” Louis teased. His heart gave a pang at the thought of riding away and leaving Harry behind—and not simply because he was concerned about being able to sit properly on his horse.

Harry lowered himself down so that they were eye to eye. “Stay,” he said softly, and echo of last night’s request.

“I can’t stay another night, Harry. What reason would we give? Besides, I have affairs to attend to at home.” It was a half-truth. In reality nothing he had to do couldn’t wait a day, but he feared that staying once more would make leaving the next day harder still.

“Not tonight,” Harry corrected. “Stay here, in the clan. Move here.”

Louis looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Harry, I’m a laird. I have land, and responsibility. My family has belonged to Clan Sutherland for generations. Why on earth would I even entertain the idea of leaving?”

“Your sister is here,” Harry said, sounding much less certain than when he first suggested the idea. “I’m here. I won’t be visiting as much with winter coming, and this is the closest we can get to making a life together.”

“And how would we do that?” Louis asked, still unconvinced. It would look highly suspicious if Harry were to hand out land to someone, and Louis wasn’t ready to give up the comfort of his house for croft life.

“I’ll make you a tacksman,” Harry said. “You’ll have your own land, close to me, and you can still live your life the same way you’re accustomed to. But you’ll be here,” he said, almost desperately. “You’ll get to see Charlotte every day if you wish.”

That tugged sharply at Louis’ heart. “She’s pregnant, did you know that?” Louis asked softly. “Due in the spring.”

Harry smiled, reaching out to stroke Louis’ arm. “And you could be here for her. Only if you want, Lou. Nothing will change between us if you say no.”

“Let me think about it,” Louis requested. “It’s a big decision, and I shouldn’t make it without some thought.”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Take as long as you need.” He kissed Louis once more and slipped out of bed, dressing quickly before stealing back down the hall to his own room.

Louis dressed and joined the household for a breakfast of cold mutton and bread, then asked for his horse. Harry followed him outside to see him off, and it pained Louis to mount his horse without kissing Harry goodbye once more.

“Think about it, please,” Harry said. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“I will,” Louis promised, and then he set off for home.

He spent the entire ride considering Harry’s proposition. On the one hand, Louis’ father would be shocked at Louis selling off the family lands. Then again, though, Charlotte had been allowed to leave the clan to find love, and Louis was certainly due the same consideration. His father had had no siblings, so there were no other Tomlinsons to dispute his decision, and being a tacksman for the future chief was almost as respectable as being a laird by his own right.

Truthfully, there wasn’t much keeping Louis from leaving, and there seemed to be more and more reasons to keep him from staying.

 

*

 

A week later Louis set off bright and early. There was a chill in the air, and he kept his plaid pulled tight around him as he journeyed south into the lands belonging to Clan Gunn. No one knew to expect him, but still Louis was greeted warmly at the castle when he asked after Harry, and the servants invited him inside to wait for the chieftain just as they had a week before.

Harry’s eyes lit up when he saw the identity of his visitor, rushing forward to hug Louis to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Harry admitted. “I’ve missed you terribly. I was thinking of making a trip to you in the next few days, because I simply couldn’t bear not seeing you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Louis told him, stepping out of the embrace so they could talk. “I’ve made arrangements for my land. If you’ll still have me as a tacksman, that is.”

Harry’s eyes went so wide Louis feared they might fall out of his head. “You’re serious? You’ve come to stay?” Harry asked, hardly daring to believe it.

Louis nodded. “I’ll send for my things once you show me where I’ll be living. Until then, they’re being cared for by my tacksman.” Niall had graciously accepted Louis’ offer to move into his house, a step up from the much smaller one he and Aileen currently lived in. His land would be in good hands, and Niall deserved to live in comfort for awhile.

“I don’t think you understand how happy you’ve made me,” Harry whispered, on the verge of tears. “I promise I will spend my life making sure you’re happy here.”

Louis smiled, reaching out to clasp Harry’s shoulder. “You owe me that much, considering I’ll have to trade my lovely tartan for your drab green one.”

Harry laughed, swiping at his eyes. “You’ll look good in green,” he promised.

Charlotte and Thomas were overjoyed at the news that Louis was coming to stay. He was there in the spring when Charlotte’s daughter was born, and he was there the next spring when she announced she was pregnant again. He was there when Harry became the chief of Clan Gunn, and when Harry told him he loved him for the first time. And the tenth time. And the hundredth.

And, not that he would ever admit it out loud, Louis did in fact look good in green.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading. If you enjoyed this fic, there is a rebloggable post on tumblr [here](https://tinyurl.com/y97bdkcr). Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


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